


Things Have Been Different || Things Are Looking Up

by prince_zale



Category: Roll Call DND, Roll Call DND Wardens Campaign
Genre: Character Study, Depressive Episode, Multi, Regret, brief mention of rape, familial tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_zale/pseuds/prince_zale
Summary: Perry is starting to think he made the wrong decision.





	Things Have Been Different || Things Are Looking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Non-canonical, but written by character's player.

Things have been different. Of course they have. He left, and he broke off everything he’d found important before. He had nothing to return home to, if he even had a home anymore. He had his sister and supposed father figure, both of which he knew little about, and an emptiness. A void that filled him so much more completely than anything else ever had. He also had a sword, a weapon that defined him, and a goddess that haunted his dreams.

The leaving he could not take back. The hurt he caused, he could not take back. He could not force Zola and Hugo to share more than they wanted to, faster than they wanted to. He could not change his ties to his sword or the goddess that came with it. That left the void inside. That, he could do something about. 

He could go out every night and fill it if he wanted. Fill it with drinking, fill it with drugs, fill it with sex and stealing and gambling and money. Fill it with something until he felt something, even if it was something bad. Fill it until he threw up, fill it until he passed out, fill it until he got caught, fill it until he had to fight. He filled it with boys and with girls, until he figured out girls just did not do it for him. He filled it with everything from goblins to orcs. From the swillest of ales to the finest of wines. From tobacco to zun and everything in between. 

And he stayed full. For awhile. Until the sun came up the next morning and the emptiness gut punched him again. Until he had to fake a smile for his sister. Until he messed up a clear shot at an enemy. Until one of his new family got hurt because of him. Until he sat down at his desk to write a letter to Floren. Until he could not stop the tears from ruining his letter, and he had to start over. 

He was changing. He could feel it. He could not tell if it was for the better. He could not tell if he had made the right decision. He could not tell if Zola and Hugo were a good influence or a bad one. He did not know who he was. Did he ever?

Every day blurred into the next. Some were fun and Zola would share more about them and their childhood. Some were boring. Some were… awfuller than he would like to admit. Some required him to bend his morals. While he could prevent Zola from some things, he could not prevent her from everything. In those times, all he could do was pray, and he did not even know if his goddess was listening anymore.

He missed Floren. He missed the shrine in the temple of Wee Jas. He missed  _ Marik.  _ He missed having a little brother, even if that little brother could be an annoying cunt. He missed Farris and Kaniel and hell, even Mana. He missed random adventures. 

He hated the one-track mindedness of Zola’s mission. He was fond of her, he may even love her. But the dullness of their day-to-day got to him. Party, drink, party, drink, find a hint, move closer to their destination, party, drink, rinse, repeat. 

He found himself sneaking away from the parties more and more often. Sneaking into the shadows of the night, following some wealthy looking business man. Following, waiting. Anticipating a reason he could tear them apart, waiting for that reason to rear its ugly head. Anticipating rapes, shady deals, beat downs. Any reason that he could justify nearly killing them and taking all their money. He became a vigilante of sorts. He could not tell if that was a good thing or not.

And still, the void never quite went away. He learned to ignore it, keep it at bay with companions he kept around longer. He liked the larger ones. The orcs and the goliaths and their like. He filled his void with Elson, an orc fighter, Ferl, a goliath barbarian, Giorgio, a half-orc buccaneer, and so on and so forth. 

He still wrote Floren. He wanted to write Marik. Everything he wrote, he could never actually say what he meant. He eventually wrote for Marik to move on. He did not want Marik to move on, but he knew Marik would not love the man he was becoming. He knew Marik deserved better. He knew they all deserved better. All of them back home. Floren, Marik, Valtyr… everyone. He knew he was not acting like the Warden he had been dubbed.

He still cried, but away from Zola. He would find roofs to climb, walks to go on, places to be. Places he could be regretful. Places he could worry. Places he could fall apart. Places he could scream and be frustrated and angry. Places he could feel justified and entirely wrong all at once.

As the days got closer to the festival in Mebaraim, Perry got more and more excited. He would see them again. He could have a reason to go home. He started to convince Zola that the tournament was something they should compete in, knowing she could not pass up a fight. Maybe his friends would compete too and he would see them and fight alongside them again, even if it was against them. He could hug Floren and Kaniel and Farris and Mana. See and hear and feel his friends again. He could go home and pray and find his goddess again. He could go home and apologize and fix things. Or try to. He would not have to miss them anymore.

Slowly, hope began to fill his void.


End file.
